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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29743092">Second Chances</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Spi11ed_Ink/pseuds/Spi11ed_Ink'>Spi11ed_Ink</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Mass Effect - All Media Types, Mass Effect Trilogy</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Depression, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Saren couldn't control what he was doing in this story, Suicidal Thoughts, be prepared for more feels y'all, but also not because he might s t a b, he is still a huge douche tho, my grumpy boi could use a hug, saren is just trying to be a hermit and this lady is not fucking having it, saren is still an asshole but he lightens up ever so slightly, saren lives past ME1 in this if you couldn't tell</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-02-27</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-04-07</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-15 21:35:37</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>4</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>10,278</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29743092</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Spi11ed_Ink/pseuds/Spi11ed_Ink</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>There was no way he could move, his body wouldn’t listen. The reason why he didn’t know, but the cold was growing stronger by the second. The haze in his mind was creeping into his vision like a black shroud.<br/>Is this what dying felt like?<br/>Unfortunately, the universe, or more specifically Shepard, had other plans for Saren.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>4</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>4</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>His body felt numb. About the only thing he could feel was the cold seeping in through his armor. How was it this cold even when the Council’s tower was engulfed in flames he would likely never find out. Debris littered the ground along with a few bodies, machine and organic alike. Saren grunted, trying to sit up straighter, frustrated when his body didn’t listen.</span>
</p><p> <span>What all had happened?</span></p><p> <span>He remembered refusing the Reaper, kicking it out of his body. It was not happy with him, that much he was sure of. What happened after seeing a blinding red light was a bit of a blur.</span></p><p> <span>Where was Shepard?</span></p><p> <span>Electric blue eyes scanned over the room again, picking over the remains. None of them bore her armor. His gaze turned to two massive sheets of sharp metal impaled in the center of the room where their fight had taken place. Any other time and he would have made a snide remark of how much it looked like the things modern artists seemed to love so much. Saren felt his stomach drop.</span></p><p> <span>What had he done?</span></p><p> <span>“Where’s Shepard?” A voice echoed through the deathly silent room. It sounded familiar, but through the haze that was starting to creep around the edges of his mind, he couldn’t place it. Two figures, a krogan and a turian it seemed, stood still. Silent. That wasn’t a good sign.</span></p><p> <span>Saren turned his eyes away. They would no doubt search the room for her or her remains. They would no doubt find him and execute him on sight for what he had done. He clenched his fists tightly at his sides. There was no way he could move, his body wouldn’t listen. The reason why he didn’t know, but the cold was growing stronger by the second. The haze in his mind was creeping into his vision like a black shroud.</span></p><p> <span>Is this what dying felt like?</span></p><p> <span>“Miss me?” Those two words echoed through the room. Saren thought he heard a small gasp. He turned his head to where it came from and saw an armored figure hop over a piece of debris and onto what was left of a dais.</span></p><p> <span>“Shepard!” No doubt the krogan. He heard what sounded like a stampede coming up the stairs. Laughter pealed through the room and trailed off, a conversation taking place. Saren didn’t care to listen; he kept his eyes trained on the shattered window that the Council would normally stand in front of. He had a damned good view of the chaos that was still taking place outside. Debris was scattered around and floating in between the petals of the Citadel, the ships trying their best to steer the larger pieces away from the station. Fires visible from where he was slumped against the wall raged in what would be the civilian’s sector. The wards looked to be completely demolished.</span></p><p> <span>“Commander!” A voice snapped him from staring out of the window. It was close. Too close. “You need to see this.” The voice was turian. What was that youngling’s name again? Vakarian?</span></p><p> <span>“Bastard’s still alive.” The krogan plodded up, his footsteps sounding much quieter than they should be. Malice was not well-hidden in the krogan’s voice.</span></p><p> <span>“I can change that for you.” A third voice, distinctly human, hissed before he heard the click of a safety being turned off. Anderson. That was who it was earlier. Saren finally tilted his head in their direction, not pleased with how much effort it took, and blinked.</span></p><p> <span>“By all means, Anderson,” He rasped, “do us both a favor and pull the damned trigger.”</span></p><p> <span>“You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to do this.” Anderson’s voice was dark, far darker than Saren had ever heard it. He wasn’t sure what made him more furious; the fact that a machine got him into this situation, took his body and used it like a rag doll in a children’s game, or the fact that this pup was about to kill him.</span></p><p> <span>“Anderson, don’t!” Scratch that; he was more furious </span><em><span>now</span></em><span>. Shepard and her ‘everyone is not as bad as they seem’ attitude. She trusted people to a damned fault and he has </span><em><span>seen</span></em><span> it backfire in front of him. He would admire her tenacity were it not so annoying.</span></p><p> <span>“Shepard this bastard deserves to die! You have no idea of half of what he has done.”</span></p><p> <span>“For once I agree, Anderson.” Said human’s dark eyes snapped over to him. Shock was displayed across his features. “Get it over with so I don’t have to listen to Shepard’s spiel on how I’m not as bad as I may seem.”</span></p><p> <span>Shepard opened and closed her mouth a few times before frowning. “Comparatively, I can think of a few people worse.”</span></p><p> <span>Anderson loudly racked the pistol’s receiver, pressing it to Saren’s forehead. “And those people deserve death too. This bastard has taken thousands of lives in the past hour alone.”</span></p><p> <span>“That wasn’t him! Sovereign was controlling him and you know that damned well.”</span></p><p> <span>“He </span><em><span>let</span></em><span> it have control!”</span></p><p> <span>“Why would he have fought it then?”</span></p><p> <span>Saren neither wanted to or could listen to the rest of their argument as his mind had become about as numb as the rest of his body. He could faintly hear Shepard yelling something, but the shroud that had been dancing at the corners of his vision suddenly obscured it. The last thing he could remember thinking was </span><em><span>‘finally.’</span></em></p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Alive</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>He wasn’t sure if he should be more worried that he wasn’t dead, or that he wished he was. Him being alive meant that Shepard had somehow convinced both Anderson </span>
  <em>
    <span>and</span>
  </em>
  <span> the Council not to dispose of him. His eyes traced around the room and he deduced that he was in some sort of isolation ward. Apparently whatever injuries he had were easily fixed, as there was no heavy medical equipment to be seen.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Saren sat up slowly, taking in every last detail of the room. There wasn’t much to note; the walls were white, the bed was white, even the damned upholstery was white. The tiles were a grey that was hard to discern </span>
  <em>
    <span>from</span>
  </em>
  <span> white. He gripped the edges of the mattress, his teeth grinding audibly together.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>What the hell did they want him for?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It seemed that his question was soon going to be answered, as the door -it too was white and hard to pick out from the rest of the wall- slid open to reveal the asari councilor. She was accompanied by Shepard herself and a turian he didn’t recognize. Probably a guard.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What in the </span>
  <em>
    <span>hell</span>
  </em>
  <span> do you want from me?” Saren didn’t bother to look at the three besides the preliminary glance to ascertain their identities. He was exhausted already. Not in a physical sense. No, he could damn near tear out the throats of anyone who said the wrong thing. This was more of a… mental exhaustion. A haze that garbled his thoughts, frustrated him to no end. He hardly caught the response from the asari councilor.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Shepard here provided sufficient evidence that you were not in your right mind when committing the atrocious acts of the past few months.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Saren glanced up from the monotone tile that made up the floor. “You didn’t answer my question, councilor.” He spat. Concern and just a bit of unease flashed across the asari’s face before she quickly tamped it down. She even dared to take a step closer to the bristling ex-spectre.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That remains to be found out. Considering your current… notoriety,” she glanced at Shepard at this, “the other members of the council decided that you would be going into temporary retirement until things settle down. Your Spectre status may or may not be returned depending on how things go during that time.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A low growl split through the already tense air in the cramped room. “And if I refuse to take my title back?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Surprise. Tha asari councilor’s brows raised. “We thought you would want to-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Saren rose from the side of the bed. “Councilor, with all due respect,” it came out much more sarcastically than he intended, which is saying something for him, “you’re just doing this because your new pet convinced you to. You want to make sure I don’t go off the deep end.” The asari opened and closed her mouth several times but made no attempt to interrupt. “If you had things your way, you would see me dead a hundred different times.” Saren stood a mere foot away from the counselor, towering the greater part of two feet over her. The turian guard raised his hackles, placing a hand on his pistol as a warning. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“But that’s not how things happened, Saren.” Ah, the human spectre herself. Saren’s eyes shot over to the human. Jade eyes showed no hint of either fear or anger like the asari before him. His nose scrunched visibly as he bore his teeth, taking two deliberate steps to stand in front of the human.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That is how it </span>
  <em>
    <span>should  </span>
  </em>
  <span>have happened, human.” He spat the last word like poison on his tongue. He held her gaze for a few moments with a glare before snorting, turning his back, and walking over to the far side of the room. “Where are you planning on sending me?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>**</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Were Saren in more of a position to argue, he </span>
  <em>
    <span>absolutely</span>
  </em>
  <span> would have objected to where they chose to put him in his “temporary retirement.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A human colony.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>In the Terminus Systems.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He wasn’t sure if it was karma biting him or the fact that Shepard was well past insane in his mind now. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Seeing as he had effectively no influence over the decision, he decided to the next best thing he could think of, which was the equivalent of sulking in his room like a child. He knew this, yes, but it isn’t like he could destroy something like he damn well wanted to. He had to ‘act like a well-adjusted member of society.’ So there he sat in the small space he was given, unmoving, until boredom got the better of him. It wasn’t much different than the room he had woken up in. The walls were a wretched grey color, the flooring was some odd mixture between wood and metal, and the furniture -in his opinion- hardly matched.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They didn’t even let him have a weapon. For good reason, he supposed, but what in the hell was he going to do? </span>
  <em>
    <span>Interact</span>
  </em>
  <span> with the humans on this forsaken colony? He would rather go insane.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Or, rather, he wanted to go mad from lack of contact, but the neighboring humans were driving him insane in a </span>
  <em>
    <span>completely</span>
  </em>
  <span> different manner. There was a mother and two children from what he bothered to remember, and the mother was damn near as bad as Shepard in her naivete. She tried </span>
  <em>
    <span>incessantly</span>
  </em>
  <span> to interact with him in any positive way possible. Saren wasn’t having it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She was outside around midday until early evening and he avoided any window like the plague during that time. It was currently that time and he was trying his damndest to </span>
  <em>
    <span>focus</span>
  </em>
  <span> on fixing a faulty wire in his artificial limb, but her mere </span>
  <em>
    <span>presence</span>
  </em>
  <span> outside his front window shattered any form of concentration he had. He finally slammed the screwdriver in his hand on the counter and retreated to his room, electing to read instead of accidentally electrocuting himself. Or throwing something through a window with biotics. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Damn</span>
  </em>
  <span> he was missing the Spectre’s training room right about now. He was missing just being able to </span>
  <em>
    <span>do</span>
  </em>
  <span> things right about now. The best he could do was go on a walk and this colony had nothing special to offer in the form of aesthetics. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was about sunset when he finally put the article he was reading away, damn near finishing the lengthy thing in his avoidance of social contact. The sun was setting over the far horizon, the light filtering through the air and staining the clouds. Golden light instead of the normal white light was cast through the air, casting the lush green foliage in a sort of brown color. Though he itched to go on a walk, he didn’t budge until he heard the front door to the neighboring building close. Then, and only then, did the ex-Spectre rise from the miniscule desk crammed in the corner of his quarters. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The air was borderline unpleasant to a turian in temperature, but it wasn’t like he was going to risk running into his overly cheerful neighbor again. It was teetering on cool, but the last rays of the sun warmed it up </span>
  <em>
    <span>just</span>
  </em>
  <span> so wearing a heavier robe would have been too warm. Saren had been told that his identity was concealed for the time being, telling him that he would be going by ‘Artinsius Helixan’ until further notice. The miniscule amount humans he had interacted with because he </span>
  <em>
    <span>had to</span>
  </em>
  <span> have already taken to calling him ‘Art,’ much to his general annoyance. The robes he didn’t mind; in fact he wore them regularly when he was off of his Spectre duties so it was nothing new. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Heya Art.” Saren spared the human, the one who had checked him into the colony, little more than a glance and an annoyed huff as he passed by on the opposite side of the road. The human, Finn, didn’t seem too distressed by his disinterest and kept cheerfully jogging. Saren continued on his way at a moderate pace, trying to find something to catch his interest. Finding nothing other than a quickly retreating sunset, he descended into his thoughts as he walked. Many things passed through his head, but they were primarily about the Citadel attack. How in the hell Shepard managed to convince so many powerful people to spare his life? Why </span>
  <em>
    <span>exactly</span>
  </em>
  <span> did she want him alive? What did she care about his life for? His brow plates furrowed as he descended deeper into this spiral. Nothing made sense to him when it regarded Shepard. Maybe that is why she was so successful. People weren’t expecting it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Saren shook his head, biting back a growl, the words ‘well-adjusted member of society’ flickering through his head. He rolled his shoulders, not knowing that the further he delved into his thoughts, the more tension his shoulders built up. He damn well wanted to punch something out of frustration, but, once again, he couldn’t. Perhaps a run would clear his frustration? </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Deciding it was better than nothing and seeing as the sun was barely winking over the horizon, Saren crossed to the other side of the road and started a brisk jog back to his residence. While many turians weren’t built for distance like humans were -as much as he hated to admit it- turians could build up speed and force </span>
  <em>
    <span>fast</span>
  </em>
  <span>. And due to his training he could run a longer than most other turians, so running back to his residence would hardly be of issue considering he hadn’t gone far walking. His jog very quickly turned into a run, which descended into a full sprint. He considered it a good thing most others were back in their homes because the sight of a turian of his stature </span>
  <em>
    <span>sprinting</span>
  </em>
  <span> would be a cause of concern. Saren didn’t care too much though, because it felt </span>
  <em>
    <span>good</span>
  </em>
  <span> to run again. To do </span>
  <em>
    <span>something</span>
  </em>
  <span> physical instead of having to listen to the council’s monologues or be trapped under a Reaper’s thumb. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He almost passed his residence when he got there just to keep running. The light, however, had different plans. While turians had fairly good night vision, he didn’t feel like staying to figure out how cold it got on this planet at night. The sun’s absence was already beginning to affect him. The air was beginning to nip at the ends of his fringe and mandibles, making an uncomfortable prickling sensation work its way under his skin. Saren slowed his pace back down to a walk a little way before his front sidewalk began. Evening lights had long since flickered to life, his two small ones at the beginning of the sidewalk no exception. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hello.” He froze at the sudden voice. Nobody had been out, so where did they come from? They had to be significantly sneaky to make it past his acute hearing. Saren turned to see…</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A child. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Not just any child, but one of the ones that lived next door if his memory served. He could be wrong though, human faces all looked the same to him. Their varying tones didn’t help much either. The boy was young as far as he could tell, his face much more… squishy-looking than an adult counterpart would be. Saren narrowed his eyes at the boy, who didn't seem to know much about turian bodily expression given that he didn’t seem fazed. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What do you want, boy?” He tried to tone back his normal growling, sarcastic inflection to not upset the kid. Human children screaming was possibly one of the </span>
  <em>
    <span>worst</span>
  </em>
  <span> sounds he could think of. And he was </span>
  <em>
    <span>not</span>
  </em>
  <span> in the mood -nor would he ever be- to deal with </span>
  <em>
    <span>that</span>
  </em>
  <span>. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What are you doing outside? It’s dark?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Saren used every last bit of his strength to not snort. “I am returning from a walk.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Why?”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Spirits give me strength to not snap. </span>
  </em>
  <span>Saren did </span>
  <em>
    <span>not</span>
  </em>
  <span>, in fact, have the strength to keep from rolling his eyes. “Because I do whatever I </span>
  <em>
    <span>feel</span>
  </em>
  <span> like, boy.” His tone had become much more clipped, and he turned on his heel to scale his front steps. The boy didn’t move to follow him, but Saren could sense eyes on him until he closed the front door. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>His evening went by without much incident, other than seeing the mother of the boy coming out and scolding him for not telling her where he was going. Saren retreated to his bedroom to finish the article he was reading earlier. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>When finished with that, he turned to scanning over the news, seeing the same damned thing he had for the past few days. It was like the different stations copied and pasted the words from the others and just used different people to relay it. He wasn’t entirely sure that </span>
  <em>
    <span>wasn’t </span>
  </em>
  <span>the case. Saren growled to himself, flicking away his omnitool, and rose from the desk. He brushed a few papers off to the side before glancing at the time. It was late, so he decided to check out for the night. It took him a while to finally relax enough to rest, but it did finally happen. Blissful darkness once again flooded his vision.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Locked On</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Gonna add a bit of a TW here for descriptions of PTSD, nightmares, and flashbacks. I did my research on the physiological symptoms, but there are many different ways it can manifest in different people. I'm not a therapist. And if you do have this disorder please seek out appropriate help and you probably shouldn't be reading this story if easily triggered.</p><p>Also this is a really long chapter, like holy fuck.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <strong>
    <em>Gonna add another TW in case you didn't see the one above. Please don't read this if you are triggered by descriptions of PTSD, nightmares, and flashbacks. Minor blood is also described.</em>
  </strong>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>The planet was fairly pretty, that much Saren had to admit. The lush foliage and rocky mountains made for lovely scenery. It was warm too. Gazing at the environment wasn’t why he was here though. Armored feet thudded against the metal floors of the railway station. It was early evening, the sun just beginning to descend from its arc across the sapphire sky. Saren was surveying the station for anything that was a threat, pistol gripped in his right hand. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Saren?” He knew that voice. It wasn’t a threat. Said turian turned around in a near casual way, seeing the brown-plated turian in front of him lower his assault rifle. He had obviously been taking cover behind the crate he was in front of and was surprised to find him here.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Nihlus.” His voice rumbled across the tram station.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span> “This isn’t your mission Saren,” Nihlus seemed a bit frustrated if his subvocals were to be trusted. Frustrated, or nervous. He must have seen something. “What are you doing here?” </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“The Council thought you could use some help on this one.” His voice seemed far away to his ears, alien. Saren moved forward, placing a comforting hand on the other turian’s shoulder, feeling him relax at the contact. Saren moved past Nihlus to stare into the distance. He glanced over his shoulder to see Nihlus’ reaction. He seemed exhausted, scared. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“I wasn’t expecting to find the Geth here. The situation’s bad.” </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Against every fiber of his being screaming at him to stop, his arm raised. His pistol was aimed at Nihlus’ back, at a very specific point in the turian anatomy that would cause him to bleed out in moments. His arm didn’t shake, though his mind certainly was. “Don’t worry,” his voice was now sickly sweet. Nihlus only seemed to be further comforted despite the weapon pointed at his back. He would never expect…</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“I’ve got it all under control.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>His finger tightened agonizingly slowly around the trigger. It was like his body physically couldn’t do it. He wouldn’t allow it. He couldn’t!</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>He was wrong. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>The pistol’s voice rang across the station. A sound that would engrain itself into Saren’s ears for eternity. He felt ill. Nihlus immediately dropped to the ground, blood pouring from the wound. Saren dropped with him, pistol clattering across the station, overtaking whatever entity had caused him to do one of the only things he wouldn’t ever think of doing. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Saren?” Nihlus’ voice was barely audible. Confusion. Pain. Betrayal. They were most evident in those eyes. Then it was gone. Saren’s body rose without any further sign of remorse other than its previous action. The discarded pistol was promptly retrieved, and the remaining turian left without hesitation. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Saren’s eyes snapped open, the only reason a yell not erupting from his mouth was that he was far too busy floundering around on the bed to do so. His arms jerked around like he was fighting something physically. The sheets were like rope, restraining his movement. It was a miracle his talons didn’t rip clean through them. He threw the offending fabric across the room with a strangled roar, trying in vain to steady his breathing. His eyes were wide open, mandibles fluttering with each shaky breath. He wasn’t a stranger to the occasional nightmare, but this was something different. Over the past few days, the same nightmare that woke him now had been replaying in his mind. It had cost him more than a few hours of sleep, and most nights he hardly got half of the healthy amount of rest. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Once he had calmed himself down enough to not shake at every movement, Saren glanced over at the clock. It almost seemed to gleam mockingly at him, displaying a bright 02:14 in orange numbering. He knew that no matter how hard he tried he wasn’t getting any more sleep, and, even if he did fall back asleep, the nightmare would just come back. Saren slung his legs over the side of the bed and stood, taking a moment to steady himself, adrenaline still coursing through his system. He needed to do something to take his mind off of the dream that haunted his every sleeping moment before it crept into his wakefulness as well. He had finished the article he was interested in, so what else was there to do? Saren lifted a hand to run over his face, noticing the slight delay in his movements. Oh yeah, he needed to fix that. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The turian flipped on the kitchen lighting and dug around for the toolbox- where in the hell had he left the damned thing? When he finally found it -in a cabinet it absolutely did not belong in- he placed it on the counter and got to work disassembling the delicate machinery that made up his left arm. While it had originally been a transplanted Geth arm, he had worked on it a bit for comfort purposes; Geth tech did not originally integrate well with turian anatomy. Saren eventually got out the many panels, screws and other various parts that attached the arm to his torso and let it drop unceremoniously onto the counter. Several displeased sounding beeps rang from his omni-tool, notifying him of the disconnect. He promptly waved them away with a huff; like he wouldn’t know when his own damned arm was detached. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Several hours had passed and the delay issue seemed to be much more complicated than Saren had initially anticipated. It made it all the more difficult that he only had </span>
  <em>
    <span>one</span>
  </em>
  <span> arm to fix it with, but he wasn’t about to ask anyone for help, let alone a human with little to no knowledge of the fragile mechanics that made up his arm. Thoroughly annoyed, and quite tired of sitting inside of the stuffy house, Saren picked up his project and moved outside, quite happy that there was a chair there even though he had damn near tripped over it several times in his short stay in the colony. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was still early morning, and the weak rays from the barely risen sun had yet to warm up the air. No matter, Saren had anticipated this, and had already changed into heavier robes in an attempt to keep the cold the hell away from him. What was the main problem, other than his malfunctioning arm, was somehow keeping the sleeve from getting in the way of his work. After a few minutes of struggling with it, he finally elected to throw it over his shoulder, hoping it would stay there because he was in no mood to deal with gravity. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Saren continued his work for a while longer, the sun steadily rising in the sky, changing the light gradually from red, to golden, to purple, and finally to the white light that prevailed over most of the day. So engrossed was he in his work, that he didn’t notice his cheery neighbor emerge from her home, her two children trailing behind her. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Both of them, being children and on their weekend break, decided to be children. That entailed making a </span>
  <em>
    <span>lot</span>
  </em>
  <span> of noise. Noise Saren neither expected nor wanted. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>One of the children, the boy, had picked up a large plank of wood that had been laying in the yard for an unfinished fence project on the boundary between their two respective lawns. It was a bit too heavy for him to hold for longer than a few moments, so his arms gave out. This sent the plank falling loudly onto the end of another one, causing a resounding crash that sounded a bit like a distant gunshot. The fact the planks clattered together multiple times didn’t help whatsoever.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>As soon as the first crack met his ears, Saren immediately dropped everything in his lap, arm included. This sent various parts scattering all over the wooden porch. That wasn’t on his mind in the slightest, however. He dove behind the small railing encasing the porch, biotics flaring violently. Adrenaline coursed through his veins, eyes narrowing, hand shaking. Flashes of the scene that plagued him just hours before flashed in front of his eyes. The gunshot. The blood. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Nihlus. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Tyler, you know better!” The scolding words from the child’s mother fell on deaf ears, the alarmed turian focusing on the sound that echoed louder and louder in his head. </span>
  <em>
    <span>It wasn’t a gunshot.</span>
  </em>
  <span> His logical mind repeated over and over again, but his body took quite some time to finally listen to him. His fingers still twitched erratically along with his mandibles. His eyes were wide, like a cornered animal. He was practically sprawled out on the ground, the only thing keeping him upright from the inevitable adrenaline crash being the railing. His breathing had slowed slightly, coming down from desperate gasping to more of a tired wheezing. Biotics still swirled angrily around him, showing no signs of fading away.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Not the best time for someone to walk up unexpectedly. Which is exactly what happened. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Finn had been jogging by as he did every morning. He noticed that the new turian was out on his porch working on something and smiled at the progress; he wasn’t spending all day in his house. The loud crash had startled him, no doubt, but another sound drew his concern quickly after. He heard a dull thud, a few light pings, and the distinct sound of a small biotic flare. Finn didn’t know of any biotics on the colony, and was beyond stunned to glance over and see the signature blue swirling around the turian. His surprise very quickly changed back into concern when he caught a look at the turian’s face, however. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He looked about ready to devolve into a panic attack, his eyes were wide open and his mandibles were fluttering. Finn, having worked with situations such as this before, immediately rushed over. He glanced around to see what could have possibly caused the usually dismissive, stoic turian to act this way, but found nothing. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Art,” He said quietly to alert the turian to his presence but not startle him into an attack, “hey.” This time he reached out and planted a hand on the turian’s shoulder. A slight cold danced at his fingertips from the biotics, but no other discomfort was notable. The turian continued to look past him, a glazed look in his eyes, like he was…</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Is everything okay?” Rebeccah, the woman next door, came over with concern written all over her face. Her eyes widened when they landed on the turian, who had yet to acknowledge either of them. She rushed over, kneeling next to Finn. “Should I get someone? Is he okay?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I think he’s having a flashback.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Rebeccah looked over with confusion now. “Flashback?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I think he used to be military. I assumed as much from his demeanor and the people who brought him here. I just don’t know what would have-” Finn trailed off, glancing over to where the loud noise he had heard came from. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What is it?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Finn sighed, resting his other hand on Rebeccah’s shoulder. “It’s not your fault,” He started, “But I think whatever made that noise in your yard set this off.” Rebeccah didn’t respond verbally, but her face showed guilt. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Finn glanced back at the turian when the cold left his fingertips and he noticed the blue was fading away slightly. “Art, hey, look at me.” Startling blue eyes snapped over to him, narrowing to pinpricks. “You need to breathe, okay?” He heard a low growl in between the turian’s light wheezing. At least he was somewhat back to his normal ornery self. “Concentrate on something here,” Finn glanced around for something the turian could use to ground himself. He picked up a discarded screwdriver and placed it in the turian’s hand. “What did I just give you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“...” Several moments of silence passed, but he could see Art’s hand working around the screwdriver, though it was still trembling awfully. “My screwdriver.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Can you describe something about it for me?” More of the blue disappeared.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s cold.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What color is it?” Those blue eyes trailed over to his hand, unblinking. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Blue.” The answer was a bit more aggressive, like he was annoyed at something. Art then suddenly sat up, biotics sparking lightly before fading away completely. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Finn held up his hands, trying to slow him down. “Easy there, don’t move too fast.” Art’s mandibles flared, nose twitching. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m </span>
  <em>
    <span>fine</span>
  </em>
  <span> now.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Finn was slightly taken aback at the tone. It was annoyed, sure, but there was something else there he couldn’t place. “I just want to make sure you are. You looked pretty rough.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m </span>
  <em>
    <span>fine now</span>
  </em>
  <span>.” Art repeated, dragging himself to his feet. Finn leapt up with him, jumping slightly when he staggered into the railing and leaned on it heavily. It was only then that Finn noticed the empty sleeve that dangled at the turian’s side. He could have sworn that-</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His eyes locked on the mechanical arm that lay a few feet away, various parts that were no doubt a part of it strewn around the porch. Art seemed to notice the predicament as well, as another, more annoyed, growl came from behind him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Here let me help.” Finn could practically </span>
  <em>
    <span>feel</span>
  </em>
  <span> Art’s objection, but was surprised when it didn’t come. Instead, he felt a glare that could no doubt melt steel on the back of his head. Art left the railing and scooped up the parts neither he nor Rebeccah did and sat down in the chair that had been thrown back into the front wall with force since there were chips in the paint behind the seat. Both of the humans present handed the delicate metal parts to the turian wordlessly, not wanting to prod the poor guy further; he obviously didn’t want help. He was also clearly exhausted, the eyes that were sharp as a tack a few minutes ago becoming duller by the moment. Finn noticed his breathing was still somewhat erratic, but it had at least calmed down considerably. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Do you need help with that?” Rebeccah obviously didn’t know as much as he did about turian body language, but every cell of Art’s body was screaming various levels of frustration, irritation, and exhaustion-induced anger. Art’s mandibles twitched, as did the hand that was about to pick up its mechanical counterpart. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No.” The calmness of the statement startled Finn, though it could have been Art was too tired to express his annoyance, which was slightly concerning. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Are you sure? It would be a bit easier if-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I said </span>
  <em>
    <span>no</span>
  </em>
  <span>.” Art was much more insistent the second time. “Leave.” The command was simple, and, even in his state, commanded compliance. Finn placed a hand on Rebeccah’s shoulder and steered her away from the porch. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She clearly wanted to object, as was evident when Finn paused in front of her porch. Her kids were still running around and being loud, but at least Tyler was seemingly steering clear of the offending planks. Hannah was lounging on the porch talking to her friends on her omni-tool. “Why did we leave, he needed help!” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Finn sighed. “Insisting to help would not have helped, Rebeccah.” He explained gently. “Art is… solitary. More so than most turians it seems.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You saw how tired he was after that. He shouldn’t be left alone in that state.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He’ll be fine; he knows how to take care of himself and his episode was mostly over. As long as there isn’t another noise that sets him off he should be okay.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What do you think set that off?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“As I said, it was probably whatever made that noise. It must have reminded him of something he experienced. I’m assuming it's combat-related as it sounded much like gunfire.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Rebeccah sighed, more guilt crossing her features. “I didn’t know.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Finn smiled reassuringly. “It isn’t your fault. We know now and should probably take measures to prevent something like this happening again. For his and your sanity.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What can I do?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Finn hummed in thought. “Given that I’m not exactly sure what can or cannot cause an episode, and probably shouldn’t go nosing around now if I value my life, it’s safe to say loud noise should be kept to a minimum. Or you should at least give him a warning.” Rebeccah nodded, glancing over to where her children were playing. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I can keep quiet, but I don’t know how to explain this to them.” She gestured to her kids. “Hannah is old enough to understand, but Tyler…” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I can help you if you need me to. I’ve dealt with mental health issues like this before in my time. I'm sure I can come up with a way to help Tyler understand.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Really? I never knew, though I suppose I never asked you what you did before your retirement.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Finn smiled, brushing back a lock of his salt-and-peppered hair. “Yeah I was a psychologist back in the day. I can’t say for certain without talking to Art a bit more, but I have a healthy suspicion he has some pretty bad untreated PTSD.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Poor guy.” Rebeccah glanced over to where the turian still sat, hard at work trying to reattach his arm. “Did you know that he had a…” She trailed off, but the unconscious reaching for her other arm clued him into what she meant. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Prosthetic? Yeah, I helped check him into the colony. It’s hard to see under the robes, but yeah. Guy doesn’t seem bothered by it though. And it gives him something to focus on right now.”  Finn looked over Rebeccah’s shoulder when Tyler squealed, holding a stick he had found in the woods. He saw her flinch, then check to make sure the turian was alright. Art didn’t seem to be bothered. “Should I try to explain it to him now or would another time be better?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I think the sooner he knows the more I can try to help him understand and keep from doing the things that could set him off.” Finn nodded in agreement, trailing behind Rebeccah as she called out to her son. Tyler grinned and toddled over to her, reaching his arms up. Rebeccah scooped him up and called her daughter over to the table on the front lawn, Hannah only offering a brief objection before deactivating her omni-tool. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Okay you two we need to tell you something very important.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hannah looked fairly disinterested. “Is this about the alien next door?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Rebeccah recoiled at the statement. “Hannah, I thought I taught you better! We are just as alien to him as he is to us. He deserves the respect you would treat anyone else with.” She chided. “And yes, we need to explain something to you about our neighbor.” She glanced over to him. Finn took a seat and laced his fingers. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What I say may seem confusing to you, but I will try to answer any questions you may have, okay?” Finn glanced between the two children, seeing Hannah roll her eyes, but pay attention. “Art, your neighbor, has a bit of a sensitivity to loud noises.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And?” Hannah raised an eyebrow. Rebeccah looked about ready to chide her daughter again, but Finn held up a hand. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Art, when he hears a loud noise, can get frightened. Some noises make him see things he went through in the past, and some of those things can be very scary. It can make him act quite strangely.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What kinds of things would he see?” Hannah now looked intrigued.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Art used to be in the military. People in the military see a lot of scary things. He may have gotten hurt, people may have threatened him, it could be many different things. I haven’t talked with him much so I can’t say for certain, but it isn’t pleasant to relive these moments.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So Mr. Art has nightmares?” Tyler looked thoroughly confused, as any small child would be. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It is like that in a way, yes. Many people who have seen frightening things do have nightmares as well. So that is why we need you two to not make very loud noises around him; it could scare him.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Do you think a story could help? Mommy reads me stories when I have a nightmare.” Tyler, bless his heart, looked absolutely worried. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Finn smiled at his concern. “I don’t think so Tyler, but that is a wonderful idea. Art’s nightmares are much, much different. They don’t go away very easily. You know how when you wake up and you know that what you saw wasn’t real, or you realize it when your mother helps you to?” Tyler bobbed his head. “Art’s nightmares are </span>
  <em>
    <span>very</span>
  </em>
  <span> realistic because he lived through them.” It was a simplistic approach to the situation, but about the only one he could hope the young child would understand. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So we shouldn’t make loud noises or Art can have a nightmare?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Finn nodded. It wasn’t completely right, but he at least understood what they needed him to do. “Yes, you shouldn’t make loud noises when he is close enough to hear.” Tyler bobbed his head again from where he sat on his mother’s lap. Finn turned to the other child at the table. “Hannah, do you have any questions?” She looked to be deep in thought, her eyebrows furrowed. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So what exactly happens if a noise </span>
  <em>
    <span>does</span>
  </em>
  <span> scare him?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Finn took a few moments to figure out if he should answer the question more in-depth. He finally decided that the more they knew the more they could sympathize with their neighbor. “Many people display symptoms similar to a panic attack. They shake, hyperve- breathe much too fast, their heart races, and -especially in cases like Art’s- they can lash out and unintentionally hurt someone they don’t mean to. If you ever see him having these signs, I want you to get your mother to call me over, okay? Art is a biotic, which makes him even more unsafe to push into a situation like this.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hannah cocked her head to the side. “My teacher said that turians don’t have biotics.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Finn smiled at her sharp observation. “Most don’t have the ability. It is a quite rare thing among them, and many are stigmati- treated differently because of that. But many of the turians that do have biotics are quite good at controlling them. Some have even gone to specialized schools to help them sharpen this ability.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hannah stayed silent, but looked deep in thought. Finn waited a few moments to see if she had any other questions before looking to their mother. “Do you have any questions?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Rebeccah took a few moments, bouncing Tyler on her knee. “I just want to know how we can help.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Finn hummed. “I’m sure we can in some way, but we can’t force him into anything. That would make the problem worse, and he would withdraw even further.” Rebeccah didn’t look happy about his answer, but nodded anyhow. “Hey,” She looked up from where she was fiddling with her necklace. “I’ll keep an eye on him. While I’m not in practice anymore, I can’t just ignore someone in that much mental anguish.” She seemed placated by that, a small smile pricking at the corners of her lips. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Should we check in on him or leave him alone today?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Finn scratched at his stubble for a few moments. “I’ll probably do one in the evening if I don’t see him. He seems to like taking a walk around sunset.” Rebeccah tilted her head at that.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I never noticed.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Finn chuckled. “He isn’t any more inclined to talk then either if that is what you plan on doing. Art seems like a very private person. Pricklier than most other turians I’ve met. I’ve hardly said three sentences to him.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t understand why. We’re just trying to be nice to him.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Turians don’t seem to be as socially needy as humans are. They form extremely close bonds with only a few people and even then they may or may not see those people for extended amounts of time.” Finn paused, glancing over at where Art seemed to finish reattaching his prosthetic and was now leaning back in the porch’s chair. “He may not </span>
  <em>
    <span>want</span>
  </em>
  <span> any more people to keep track of. He may also be avoiding people in general because of his condition, or the fact that there are no other turians here. It could be a lot of things. We don’t know what he’s been through or what he’s thinking.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Rebeccah stayed silent, looking across her yard at said turian’s porch. Art, almost as if sensing eyes on him, glanced over. Even from a distance they could see his electric eyes narrow. Finn swore he heard a huff before Art got up from the chair and snappily went back inside. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well I’m going to help him one way or the other.”  </span>
</p><p>
  
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Rebeccah has found a target to befriend and is locked on, much to Saren's chagrin.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Incoming</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>  Saren, after going inside to keep those prodding eyes off of him, promptly sank down onto the small sofa in the living area. He was thoroughly exhausted from both the episode and how much biotic energy he had released. It may not have been with intent to damage anything, but they were concentrated and powerful enough to alter the temperature. He flexed the fingers to his prosthetic, noting that the nerve to wire delay had been significantly lessened. While it wasn’t seamless, he hadn’t had the patience nor energy to work on it that long after the incident, it was much better than it had been when he woke up. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Saren found himself staring at the ceiling, thoughts swirling between how he could fix the delay problem, what in the hell those humans wanted from him, and how the hell he was going to stay awake that night. He glanced over to the small kitchen, pondering if he should stay awake through artificial ways, but quickly dismissed it as he never had a taste for anything caffeinated. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Especially</span>
  </em>
  <span> those dark beans many humans seemed to enjoy so much. The smell alone made him nauseous and he could pick up the odor from a few hundred feet away. He had learned that the hard way when he went outside when the woman next door, Rebeccah, was on her front porch enjoying a mug of it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Saren snorted, glancing at the time. It was hardly past noon, and those two were bound to still be about, but he was </span>
  <em>
    <span>dreadfully</span>
  </em>
  <span> bored. And bored minds tend to wander to… less than savory memories. Saren huffed, rising from the sofa and deciding to go into the fenced back yard, a thing he was extremely thankful for. While it wasn’t as private as in the house, those prying eyes would at least be off of him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The sun felt </span>
  <em>
    <span>heavenly</span>
  </em>
  <span> on his pale plating. He hadn’t noticed how cold he had felt since that morning, and he </span>
  <em>
    <span>relished</span>
  </em>
  <span> the warmth, sinking down into one of the cushioned wicker chairs on the small back porch. Saren closed his eyes, turning his face to the sun and just breathing in the warm, yet crisp air. It was one of the better things about the planet. Not too much moisture or cold during the day, its climate mimicking the more temperate parts of Palaven on the better days. It was </span>
  <em>
    <span>delightful</span>
  </em>
  <span>. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The only thing that spoiled it was the sound of the neighbors. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It could have been a few hours or minutes for all he knew; he hadn’t checked the time since sinking into the chair, but he did </span>
  <em>
    <span>not</span>
  </em>
  <span> appreciate the noise. The people neighboring him were usually quiet, probably one of their only redeeming qualities, so he was puzzled as to just </span>
  <em>
    <span>what</span>
  </em>
  <span> caused them to suddenly become irritatingly loud. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Cracking open an eye, as if he could see through the thick wooden planks that made up the fence, he glanced over to where the noise originated. Saren heard a few car doors, some hushed chatter, and what sounded like either an excited human child or a dying swine; he couldn’t tell for the life of him, nor did he care that much. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hello Sammantha! We’re so glad you came over today! Tyler has been excited about seeing Sean all week and I’m happy you were able to bring him over.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s not an issue! Sean loves playing over here and he always sleeps better after a playdate.” A knowing chuckle sounded from the opposing yard. “Finn! I had no idea you would be here.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh! I’m probably not going to stay for much longer; I was on my morning jog and there was a bit of an… incident. I won’t go into it, but I should probably be getting back to my house. Those tomatoes need some weeding.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I hope it wasn’t anything bad. I won’t keep you from your tomatoes though, enjoy your afternoon!” There was a bit of a lull in the conversation. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Why don’t you come on in, I have a bit of coffee in the kitchen. Tyler, Sean, Hannah you come on in too; it’s about time for lunch.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Saren sighed when the front door to the house finally closed and there was no more interruption. His mandibles twitched and he raised his face back to the sun, his mind wandering back to just how lovely of a day it was. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was all too soon he heard the front door to the neighboring house open and two excited children sounded to be running amok. Saren sneered to himself before rising from his chair and going back inside. He sat back on the couch, this time deciding to raise his feet, head resting one of the plush pillows. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Before he could even fight it, his eyes were drifting shut. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>*</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Saren woke with a jolt, nearly throwing out his back sitting up so fast. While his sleep had been blessedly dreamless, he hadn’t expected to fall asleep. He glanced at the clock. Evening. He grumbled to himself, rolling his shoulders and neck, grunting when a satisfying pop rang out from his joints. He strode over to the window, huffing when there were still children playing in the yard; he had </span>
  <em>
    <span>so</span>
  </em>
  <span> wanted to go on his evening walk. Or at least soak up the last rays of the sun on his front porch. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sean, Tyler, come in for dinner!” </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Oh thank the spirits.</span>
  </em>
  <span> Saren, had he any less restraint, would have sagged with relief. The moment the opposing door shut, Saren emerged from his front door. He sat in the singular chair, pondering if he really had the energy to go on a walk. After careful consideration, he decided to do it anyways, even if his muscles pleaded for him not to. It would hopefully rid his mind of the earlier incident for a few moments longer. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The sun wasn’t nearly as pleasant when it was setting as it was during midday, but it still warmed his pale plating, even if only slightly. The air was quickly cooling, and Saren was glad he hadn’t changed into his lighter robes lest the chill try his already strained patience. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Art,” Speaking of strained patience, “I was just about to check in on you.” Saren was about to just ignore the human, but </span>
  <em>
    <span>something</span>
  </em>
  <span> prodded him to respond in a way that was clear to this human of how </span>
  <em>
    <span>little</span>
  </em>
  <span> he wanted help. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I am not some psychiatric patient, </span>
  <em>
    <span>human,</span>
  </em>
  <span>,” The hissed tone seemed to do the trick, as it made the man take a few paces backwards, even if it was still slightly heavy from his earlier nap, “I don’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>need</span>
  </em>
  <span> your or that woman’s help and I don’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>need</span>
  </em>
  <span> you staring at me like I’m some wounded animal.” His eyes narrowed, seemingly boring into the faded green ones. Something about the color put him off, they seemed too damned familiar. This human’s entire temperament put him on edge and he couldn’t figure out </span>
  <em>
    <span>why</span>
  </em>
  <span>. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Saren finally broke eye contact, hissed to himself, and continued on his walk. Much to his anger and irritation, he felt eyes on his back as he rounded an upcoming bend. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The rest of his walk passed without much other incident, and it seemed he could </span>
  <em>
    <span>finally</span>
  </em>
  <span> think somewhat clearly. That quick nap earlier must have done wonders for his state of mind. Saren crested over the hill he had earlier and saw the familiar roundabout his house was a part of. Those children had come back outside, but he wasn’t planning on staying outside long enough for them to notice he was even there. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Luck, it seemed, was not on his side today. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Mr. Art!” The small boy, what in the hell was his name, Tanner, Tymin, what the fuck did it matter, called cheerfully as soon as he turned onto the dead-ended street. Saren visibly tensed as the other boy came running up along with the first. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What do you </span>
  <em>
    <span>want</span>
  </em>
  <span>, boy?” Saren didn’t have the energy to hide the irritation or exhaustion from his voice. “I’ve no time for idle chatter.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The boy looked a bit put-off at either his tone or vocabulary that was far above someone his age, but he dug around in his pocket for something anyways. Saren’s eyes narrowed; what was this boy playing at? </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Here, I got this as a present for my nightmares when I was littler. Mommy says that it helps catch bad dreams. I think you need it more than me.” The boy held up… something. Saren blinked more than a few times down at the boy. “It’s a dream catcher. The bad dreams get caught in the net and the good ones go down the feathers and to you.” The boy paused. “Mommy says that the bad ones get blown away by the sunlight and to hang it above your bed.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He was too tired to argue. Either that or he had finally gone insane. Either way, he took the small offered… dream catcher, and wordlessly went back into his home. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>*</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Tyler what on Earth were you doing?” Rebeccah was worried. She looked away for one second and both of the small boys were over in the neighbor’s yard, pestering the poor man. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I was giving him a dream catcher!” Tyler grinned up at her. Heavens above the boy was going to be the death of her. “You said he had nightmares, so I gave him mine. I’m big and strong! Nightmares don’t scare me! I also have you and Hann. Mr. Art is alone and that is scary.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Rebeccah sighed, slumping back in her chair, earning a confused glance from Sammantha. “Okay Tyler, just tell me where you are going okay? Mr. Art had a long day today and it wasn’t the best idea to bother him. He needs rest.” Tyler nodded, even though he was likely to forget his promise two days later. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You never told me your neighbor is a turian!” Sean looked absolutely transfixed. “I’ve never seen one before; he’s so tall!” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Mr. Art has superpowers too!” Sean’s excitement seemed to feed Tyler’s and vice versa. They both ran off before Rebeccah could even attempt to explain </span>
  <em>
    <span>not</span>
  </em>
  <span> to ask about Art’s ‘superpowers’ because many biotic turians are sensitive about being asked such questions. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So your new neighbor is a turian with superpowers?” Sammantha had an amused tinge to her voice. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Rebeccah ran a hand through her hair, sighing. “Art’s a biotic. We had a bit of an incident earlier today. I was about to call and see if we could change the playdate to tomorrow, but you were already on your way.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So the incident was with him?” Sammantha shot a skeptical glance over to where the turian disappeared into his house. “Is he dangerous? What happened?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No! No,” Rebeccah held up her hands, “he may be reclusive and grumpy, but he’s not dangerous as far as I can tell. He’s just… been through a lot.” An inquisitive look from the other woman told her to continue. “Poor thing has PTSD. That’s actually why Finn was here. Tyler scared him into a flashback and Finn had to explain to all of us what was going on. It was a good thing he was passing by on his run when he was.” A knowing hum sounded from Sammantha. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That is a good thing. Finn could probably help him a lot.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I hope so; he doesn’t seem to want to have anything to do with me. I don’t think he wants anything to do with Finn either. I hope someone can get through to him eventually because he’s hurting. Bad.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I could have never guessed. I probably would’ve thought he was just a grump like a lot of older people are.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I would have too before today, but there was just this… look in his eyes. Something happened to him. I don’t know what, but I just want to help.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>*</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It apparently was going to be a common occurrence that Saren was going to be exhausted. He sank into his couch, every muscle screaming relief. He released a heavy sigh, glancing over the thing that boy had given him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was a delicate thing; completely different than anything he had seen made by turians. It looked more like something the asari would enjoy, with the thin wiring wrapped around a hoop and the dangling strings that had translucent feathers attached. After a few moments, Saren simply hummed to himself, thoroughly perplexed, and put the object on the coffee table. He slung his feet up onto the sofa and leaned his head back, choosing a spot in the ceiling to stare at. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He wasn’t sure how long he had been laying there, but he was snapped out of his thoughts by a ping on his omni tool. Saren grunted, glancing over whatever dumb shit his email was being sent and flicked away the screen. He turned his eyes back to the ceiling, annoyed that his concentration on </span>
  <em>
    <span>not</span>
  </em>
  <span> thinking had been interrupted. Various things swirled around in his mind not unlike a whirlpool. It was almost nauseating. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was, however, better than the nightmares. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>So he dealt with it, drifting from annoyance, to confusion, to guilt, to fear and back again. The sun had long set and Saren rose only to turn off the other lights that were on before sinking back down onto the sofa. He left the one in the living area on, assuming that the light would help him stay up. That, and maybe he could mindlessly scroll through the extranet to keep </span>
  <em>
    <span>some</span>
  </em>
  <span> neurons firing. Maybe that would keep his brain active enough to not want to descend into the sleeping hell he had become accustomed to. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was far too early that he became bored of reading news on different planets and deactivated his omni tool. Saren glanced at the clock. 03:00. He stood from the couch, electing to go outside. Maybe the cold would clear the fog that was working its way behind his eyes and constricting his brain. It was certainly colder than Saren would have liked outside, but the robes staved most of it off. His face and the ends of his fringe were not so lucky, however. He fiddled with the ends of the partial hood on his head for a few moments before grabbing the back of the chair and shifting it to lean against the railing. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>And there he sat, staring up at the unfamiliar array of stars. Sure he had been in the Terminus, but he never stayed long enough to know the constellations. He preferred Council space. It was much more ordered, or at least the mercs knew how to hide their faces from him. Saren snorted to himself; oh what he wouldn’t give to be back to the simpler times. Hunting mercs instead of having the creeping dread that the reaper conflict was </span>
  <em>
    <span>far</span>
  </em>
  <span> from over. He knew it had hardly even begun; Sovereign was just one reaper. Those visions had shown </span>
  <em>
    <span>thousands</span>
  </em>
  <span> of them. Perhaps millions. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He shook his head, leaning the back of his head against the railing, letting his arms rest on his stomach. This was not the time to have a panic attack. Things would work out; they could figure out </span>
  <em>
    <span>something</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Saren growled softly, returning his attention to the glimmering stars.  He traced random patterns in them with his eyes, thoughts lazily gliding around in his head. His eyes grew heavier and heavier, despite his best attempts to keep them open. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Images flashed before his eyes, too quick to discern. Red. Blood. Screaming. A myriad of unknown entities roared in the background. Rage or fear perhaps both. And then that horrible droning. The Reaper’s tongue. It shook the very earth. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Saren jerked back from his half-asleep state with a gasp. It had been a while since </span>
  <em>
    <span>those</span>
  </em>
  <span> particular images haunted him. He never really figured out what they were, but Sovereign seemed unhappy about it. The beacon’s knowledge felt less like a warning and more like…</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Memories. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Saren hunched over, elbows on his knees and his hands cupping his head. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Why did you allow me to live and suffer like this Shepard? Is this your punishment? </span>
  </em>
  <span>He growled to himself. The naïve woman had no idea; she wasn’t cruel enough to think of something like that. She thought she was making his life </span>
  <em>
    <span>better</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Saren’s mandibles clenched tightly to his face, brow plates furrowing. He glared up at the stars, picking some random dot to stare at. And he cursed her name. It wouldn’t do anything, that he knew, but it sure as hell made him feel a bit better. His eyes eventually roamed over to the pair of moons in varying completion of their arcs across the night sky. He took to studying the patterning on their surfaces, wondering how each crater was made. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Soon enough, the sun began to tint the horizon a brilliant display of reds and oranges. Saren sighed from where he had leaned back into the chair, his eyes drifting across the sunrise. It was nothing special. He would even call it rather drab comparatively as there were planets with much more flashy displays. Laden clouds floated by and the scent of rain hung heavily in the air. It was going to be cold today and there was a storm approaching. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He had no issue with it. He even enjoyed the inclement weather. It made footsteps quiet and his escape trails harder to pick up in the past. One would even wager a guess that the turian liked the sounds the falling droplets made when they pattered across foliage. A cool breeze whispered through the trees, carrying the distant smell of disturbed earth and the tang of ozone. The heavens would descend upon them soon enough. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>And it would be no normal storm either.    </span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Sorry for the wait! I'm trying to make these chapters somewhat long so it isn't broken up too much like they would be if they were shorter. <br/>Either way, I hope you enjoy this!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
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